


God and the saints preserve you

by Dienda



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brownham, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Matthew freaks out, Vigilante AU, Will gets hurt, gay hawks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dienda/pseuds/Dienda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vigilante AU. Will gets hurt in one of their outings, Matthew doesn’t take it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God and the saints preserve you

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on tumblr a while ago but had completely forgotten to post it here.

They cornered their prey in an abandoned building. Perhaps it had been an office, one day, years ago; now it was nothing but a husk of dark bricks and ruined furniture scattered through the stripped floor.

Matthew approached the man with slow steps and a smile on his face. He was giddy and breathless. Their pursuit had led them into what looked like a conference room, a long table and a handful of broken chairs pushed against a wall.

“No use running now.” He bent down to pick up a steel pipe from the filthy carpet; he gave it a twirl, considering its weight.

“Why are you doing this to me?” cried the man. He had fallen to his knees by the far wall, his shaking back to his pursuers.

“You know why,” said Will from the door, gun trained on the crouching figure. “We want a confession.”

They failed to expect what happened next.

The killer twisted around as Matt raised his arm to strike. There was a loud blast; Will felt the bite of pain in his side and took a step back. His own gun fell to the floor. Before the man could fire again Matthew swung the pipe against his temple; blood painted a black arc on the discoloured wallpaper.

“Will!”

“I’m fine.” He leaned against the wall and brought a hand to his ribs; he prodded the wound. It hurt like a burn. “I think it just grazed me.”

“I didn’t notice he had a gun,” said Matthew in an angry whisper. He took off his jacket and pressed it to Will’s side.

“That makes two of us.”

“You’re bleeding so much.” The younger man sounded frantic, almost child-like with concern.

“It’s alright.” Will cupped Matthew’s face with his hand; left a bloodstain on his neck. “We’ve had worse.” He gave him a smile that turned into a sigh. “Let’s just get this over with. Is he dead?”

The man hadn’t move from where he was crumpled on the floor, a dark pool growing around his head.

Matthew clenched his jaw; his expression, his posture changed, went rigid. In one swift movement, he stood up and retrieved the steel pipe.

Despite their pledge for vengeance, their murders were always detached, efficient. They sized the subject of their righteousness and designed a punishment to fit the monster. This ―blow after blow until all that was left was a lump of flesh barely recognizable as a man― was nothing but Matthew’s wrath.

Will didn’t look away.

*

They had parked in an alley behind the empty building. The wound had almost stopped bleeding by the time they reached the car. They cleaned as best as they could, cramped in the backseat, under the weak interior light.

The streets were not quite empty at one in the morning. Matt stopped at an all-night pharmacy. Will waited, slumped in the passenger seat; all the adrenaline had left his system and now he felt, like gravity, the pull of exhaustion. The shot throbbed like a heartbeat.

When they arrived at the motel, they turned on the shower and washed the blood away.

“Nothing feels broken.” Will was poking the ribs around the torn skin. The shower had revealed a long gash that looked worse than it actually was. “I think it just needs a couple of stitches.”

He finished cleaning the wound with a cotton swab and rubbing alcohol from the pharmacy bag. Will had found a small sewing kit in their duffel bag; he poured a splash of alcohol on both needle and thread. He leaned against the sink and let out a long sigh.

“Ready.”

Matt nodded without looking up. He was sitting on the toilet lid. They were just inches away in the tiny bathroom.

Will hissed when the needle pierced his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Matthew said in a broken whisper; his hands stopped.

“It’s ok.” Will caressed his shoulder with a smile. “Go on.”

He grit his teeth as the stitches were completed. It took five in total.

Matthew had done his share of suturing at the Hospital but now he felt clumsy and harsh; his fingers shook and he could barely concentrate on the task. He couldn’t stop thinking he was hurting Will further.

“I guess this is the universe telling me ‘rugged’ is the look for me,” sighed Will as Matt covered the wound with a bandage.

The younger man gave him a half-smile but kept his head down. “I’ll clean up. You should go to bed, you need rest.”

“Matt.” Will touched the side of his face.

“I should have noticed.” Matthew finally looked up at him. His eyes were red and wet with unshed tears. “Fuck, he could have killed you.”

“Hey.” Will pulled him to his chest. Matt let out a shuddering breath and wrapped his arms around him. “I missed it too. He didn’t kill me; I’m here.”

“It’s my job to protect you.” His voice stuttered with the force of his angry sobs.

“Stop it.” He ran his fingers through Matt’s hair, over and over. “I’m fine. Better me than you.”

Matthew held him tighter, shook his head against Will’s stomach. “No.”

Will pulled the younger man to his feet.

“Baby, it happened, period. I’m fine. I won’t let you beat yourself up over it.” He cleaned his face with his open palms. “Come to bed. We’ll get some sleep before we have to go.”

When they got in bed, Will let himself be arranged and held, fitted against Matthew’s body. He pressed kisses to the speckled skin beneath his lips, to the hollow of Matt’s throat and the hard line of his collarbone, as he whispered every reassuring word he could think of.

*

Matthew cradled Will’s sleeping body in the artificial darkness of the motel room, keeping a hand over his bandaged side; he could feel, through the gauze, the heat of the damaged tissue as it worked to heal itself. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

He was on the verge of a dream when his mind whispered that this ―pliant and heavy and sweet― was exactly how Will’s body would feel if he were dead.

Matt jolted up. Will didn’t stir.

He scrambled to turn the bedside lamp on. Will was pale and thin but his ribcage, his stomach, the bandage rose and fell with his breathing. Matthew pressed his ear to the sleeping man’s chest; his heart beat strong and steady. He sat in silence, watching Will. He could feel that hateful _desperation_ clawing its way back into his chest.

He wished he could revive the man and kill him all over again, cut him open piece by piece, tear away his hands so he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger; cut off his head so he couldn’t even think about hurting Will.

Unable to quiet his mind, Matthew got dressed and left the room.

*

Will woke up to a gentle hand on his face.

“Wake up, baby; we have to go.”

He sat up and stretched as best as he could. The pain was a dull throbbing that went up to his armpit and down to his waist. The sky outside was the colour of a heavy cloud.

Matt had set out a change of clothes for him. Will dressed and went to the bathroom; it was clear of all the supplies they’d used last night. When he came out, Matthew was shoving the last of their stuff in the duffel bag.

“Are we set?” He wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist and nuzzled the back of his neck. He stopped. “You smell of fire.”

Matthew turned to face him.

“I couldn’t remember if we’d dropped something, if your blood got anywhere.” He stared hard at Will. His eyes still had that frantic, wide shine. “There’s nothing left now.”

“You―” He wasn’t sure of what he wanted to say. Last night he’d been too tired to feel rattled about what happened. Now, with his mind clear, Matthew’s anxiety was like a scream. Will could recreate all too easily the crystallised moment of panic when their prey fired the gun. He saw himself standing in Matthew’s place, steel pipe in his hand, as the only thing he had ―the only thing he loved― bled out into the filthy floor.

“Matt,” Will gasped. “It’s okay, see? You’ve never failed to protect me.” He kissed him then, long and hungry; a kiss that saw the languid grey of dawn turn into golden blue. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
